Friend or Foe
by Jacques Sparreaux
Summary: She's back in town, and Sherlock Holmes' admiration is re-awakened, after all, she is the only person to beat him, and a young woman at that. Who is Irene Adler? Will she prove to be a friend, or will she stay true to her reputation of outsmarting Holmes in his own game? The story of The Woman's return. Set after A Scandal in Bohemia.
1. Ex Mrs Norton

**A/N: Hello there! I'm writing another fanfic, yes. But don't worry, I won't abandon this like my other story, The Girl, *sob* I will continue that though, hopefully inspiration comes to me to fix my chapter 3. Also I'm still continuing The Fox to His Hound. I am working on chapter 21, but this idea came to me, and I simply cannot let it slip away. So while I bash myself with making a proper case plot for TFTHH, I have written this, to let you know that I have not forgotten about my readers and fellow Sherlene fans. This will be a short fic though, probably at least 10 chapters, yes, 10 chapters is short for me. XD**

* * *

**Ex Mrs. Norton**

* * *

"It is three o'clock in the afternoon, and it is spring time, yet London is bleak and dreary as always." The young divorcee commented on the gray view outside her room window in The Grand as the chambermaid poured her some tea.

The maid simply smiled. "Always has been this way, mum. Although it is just early spring, it'll get better in a few days." She assured. "If you have no more requests for me, I shall take my leave."

With her attention still at the light rain pattering at the glass panes, she dismissed the maid and went back to her musings. It's been a month since the case was closed, a month since she's seen his face, a month that she's been rid of him, and a month since she regained her surname. Irene Adler was married at a young age of 20, and now a divorcee at 22.

It was a new life, a rebellious life, one that her mother would have never imagined for her. Not that she followed orders or anything, but Irene had been her own woman since studying ballet in Warsaw, and is still her own until now. Godfrey Norton and the foolish king before him never knew what hit them the moment they met her. Irene was independent, and she loved the free life. Her being present in London for her tour was evidence of that.

Oh Godfrey, wonderful Godfrey. He served another purpose than just being her lawyer consultant, he was her ticket out. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have escaped the blue blooded buffoon. Despite being a barrister, he was easy to fool and manipulate, and within just two weeks of flirting and gentle persuasion, she became Mrs. Norton. Irene had a way with men, and she knew fully well how to use it in her favor, and most of the time, she got herself out of trouble with it. Sure he was a friend and he was sweet, but Irene had more pressing problems than dealing with the guilt of fooling him. But Godfrey was the resilient kind. He was terribly possessive and jealous, and he choked her despite the fact that the marriage was a sham, well for Irene it was, Godfrey Norton did in all his power to keep his wife on a leash, and Irene Adler did not like that.

For all the things he did to her in two long years, Irene would have killed him without regret. But that was America, and women were looked down on by society, more so a woman whose husband dies by suspicious means, she would be suspect no. 1. Divorce may be difficult, but it was the cleanest way out, and with a little planning, she had framed him with adultery, and her case won. But in the eyes of society, a divorcee was a used toy, and that was why Irene went back to her theatre tour group and found her escape in London.

She wanted to be in Paris, but funny how whenever she escapes from a man, she lands in London. It'll have to do for now, after all, she was a divorcee, and divorcees where treated better here than in America.

Yet she cannot keep her mind off that spot on her left ring finger where the weight of a diamond ring once sat, and now her hand simply feels a little too light for her liking.

Irene adored the attention lavished upon her by her admirers. She was a prize that any man would fight over to win, and there is nothing more she could ask for. It was not that she found it difficult to socialize, even when she was married Irene was surrounded by men, but it was the feeling of being alone in a familiar place that dampened her spirits, and the bleak, dreary London climate did not help at all.

The rain had stopped, and setting her thoughts aside with a sigh, Irene donned her walking clothes; a light gray Ulster and a pair of pinstriped trousers, picked up her brown bowler hat and decided to enjoy the English afternoon.

* * *

Holmes ran as fast his legs would go, keeping a tight hold on his fedora, he dodged civilians and slipped through narrow alley ways. It was another day on the job, and his culprit this time ran faster than a jungle cat. The current case is nearing its end, and the capture of this thief would ensure him this and last month's rent, it was a simple case that he usually wouldn't entertain, but Mrs. Hudson had stopped supplying him food for a week to remind him of his dues, and he needed the money.

Watson had not been around to help him with the rent as he was in Paris. He said a university there had requested his expertise for a medical research and he simply cannot refuse the offer. Although Holmes was pretty sure it was not a research grant, but Watson's current French belle beau that kept him there.

_Ungrateful bastard, he'll be back soon._

Holmes had followed his thief in a very crowded main street and to his dismay; he had lost sight of him. But the thief's appearance was etched in his mind, a short grubby person with a red scruffy face and although his suspect's brown hat was a common sight around, it was fortunate that no one else seems to be wearing a washed out gray Ulster.

* * *

Irene walked down the street with a smile, she was on tour with her theatre group and she was undeniably well known, but with her simple disguise, she enjoyed a fuss free walk. A corner stall with a beautiful display of flowers was the only indication of spring and color in the street and she couldn't help but be drawn to it.

"Flowers for your bonnie belle, sir?" the shop keeper said. "Tulips are all the rage for them ladies this spring, a good scarlet bloom would do well."

Irene smiled, "No thank you, I like- I mean, my lady likes peonies and roses." She thought about getting a bouquet for her vase. "How much for a bu —_Ow_!"

"Outta the way, you bloke!" the man rudely yelled as he pushed aside her in a hurry. Irene fell onto the flower stall and buckets of fresh flowers toppled over her.

She got up and yelled back, "Why you—_Ow_!" for the second time in less than a minute Irene fell face down, as someone had tackled her onto the muddy street.

"Aha! I've got you!" Her offender said as he straddled her and turned her over to face him.

Irene sputtered mud off her lips and squirmed. "Geroffme! Geroffme you bastard! Geroff—" She stopped when she saw his face...

_This man… I know this man…_

"Wait…" He touched her soiled chin, his eyebrows furrowed, and he hastily got up cursing to himself and chased after the other man.

Irene stayed on the mud, in shock. The shop keeper looked down at her, worried. "Uhm… miss…?"

_That man… that man was… Wait; did he just call me miss?_ Then Irene realized her hat had been knocked off her head, and her hair exposed her gender. In a hurry, she stuck her bowler back on and ran to her hotel with her dignity still intact.

* * *

Watson burst into the room just as Holmes was just sitting into his armchair in front of the fire.

"Oh hello, I see you remembered the friend you abandoned." _Quite sooner than I though. _He gave the doctor a smile.

Watson plopped into the seat across Holmes. "I did not abandon you; I had a research grant in Paris."

"Did you now?" Holmes said as he dried his toes in the warmth. "I didn't know there was a research in Paris called Eloise St. Clair." His sarcasm evident in the look he gave his friend.

"And I didn't know Sherlock Holmes couldn't catch a measly jewel thief." Watson replied, equally sarcastic.

"It's not that I didn't catch him," Holmes turned away and fiddled with his jacket button. "I'm just giving him a good head start, you know, to mislead him. How would you know anyway? Your face and dress screams of a dreadfully failed Parisian courting, without my help mind you, and that ticket stub poking out of your breast pocket says 5.45; my chase was around mid afternoon." He said scathingly.

"For a man with your capabilities of lying, that was a terrible excuse, Holmes." He tossed him the evening paper. "It's on the personal advertising page; Mrs. Olsen doesn't seem pleased with your performance and has relayed her need for a better detective through the papers."

"And to her I say good luck with that!" Holmes flipped through the paper for a moment before stopping on the entertainment page. He stared hard at the paper with wide eyes.

"Holmes, are you alright?" Watson noticed the sudden silence.

The detective threw the paper down, grabbed his coat and hat, and ran out the door.

"What the bloody hell?" He exclaimed before picking up the discarded paper.

In the middle of a page was a poster for an upcoming play down at The Victoria. It read: _Carmen, Starring Irene Adler._

* * *

**A/N: I'll be writing shorter chapters for this story. I mean, shorter than what I'm used to.**

**Notes:**

**-This story takes place 2 years after SCAN, and that would be 1890.**

**-Irene Adler's original age in the canon in SCAN is 30 and would make her birthday 1858. But I altered it to make her younger. I imagine in SCAN that she was a prima dona fresh out of Ballet school in Warsaw, and Norton was her first husband. **

**-This age change also applies to The Fox to His Hound. I also altered Holmes' age, and instead of 1854 for his birthday, I made it 1860. That's why in TFTHH he's 37 years old and Adler should be 29. I like considerable age gaps like this. Don't judge me!**

**Reviews please! **

**-Jacques Sparreaux**


	2. Candy for Thought

**Candy for Thought**

* * *

He tripped on the curb as he walked. He kept bumping into people and was almost run over by five carriages.

Sherlock Holmes' attention was elsewhere, and when the detective was distracted, it could prove fatal to him, the horse carriages would attest to that.

_She's back. _

In an hour, he'd visited half of all five star hotels in London. She was a star after all; of course she'd only pick the best.

_Her name was Adler once more. _

He slipped in as bellboys or concierges, and checked their log books for the familiar name.

_Divorced or widowed?_

So far none had given positive results. He needed to look further.

_She's back._

He never would have thought he'd hear of her again, heck, he never thought she'd come back to London. Well of course, he'd never thought before that she could beat him. He let out a light airy laugh. He guessed he'll have to be surprised all the time if it was about Irene Adler.

But why was she back, and why was she unmarried? Holmes was least to say curious about this entire business and his only answers would come from her. It was human nature that caused him to act this way, humans caved into desire, and humans were attracted to those who are the same as them. Holmes had both those aspects to blame, because now his desire was to meet the only woman he could consider an equal, and a person like Holmes is already rare as it is.

But what was he hoping to gain out of all this? Surely she wouldn't welcome him back into her life, he had played the antagonist once, she would be wary of him now. Holmes never engages with clients once their business with him was done, that was his unspoken rule and he never broke it. But Ms. Adler was never a client of his, her old lover, the king of Bohemia was, and by this he wasn't breaking any rules.

He doesn't expect her to be enthusiastic about his presence, but still his admiration for her got the better of him, and as a gentleman, it was only right to pay respects to the object of his high regard. He only had her photograph to remind him that even he could be beaten; a photograph that instilled in him both fear and humility throughout his work, a photograph he would often look at to inspire him and push himself to limits on solving a case. Now, he had the chance to gaze upon his inspiration in the flesh. He wouldn't let this pass.

The next hotel on his list was The Grand, and before he could even think up of stealing an unsuspecting employee's uniform, he heard the magic words:

"Oh yes, I am rather excited to see the play!" Two ladies with their husbands were conversing over dinner. "I heard the actress is just a wonderful performer. Irene Adler makes such a great Carmen as my cousin would say so; she's seen the play in America. Also, would you believe, I heard Ms. Adler has taken up rooms in here!"

Holmes was quick to dress as a bellboy and picked up someone else's package for disguise and stuck around the second floor linen room.

"So ladies," he faked a drawling accent to a couple of chatty chambermaids who went to retrieve new sheets, "Me hears a pretty little star is here? I was assigned to bring up a package to her, but I forgot the room number."

The maids looked at him from head to toe. "You must be new here." The freckly one said condescendingly. "Everybody knows Ms. Adler always keeps the same room."

"And that room is?"

"315 of course! Now off you go! That package must be from one of her many admirers! It could be chocolates again; you should bring it up before it melts."

Holmes chuckled to himself at how gullible women were, but then remembered that the one he was visiting wasn't so.

* * *

Irene flopped onto her bed, enjoying the feel of the soft goose down mattress on her aching back. Today had been a rough day for her, it was as if London town did not want her back and was trying to scare her away. First off was her travel by train from Liverpool dock, the train ride was long and her cabin was uncomfortable. Stormy weather lashed outside the windows despite it being spring time. Her arrival at her hotel was a little better off, and the director of the play had welcomed and informed her that rehearsals were to start in three days, it lessened the stressful air. But still, London didn't seem to welcome her; the sky remained grey, the London fog was slowly thickening, and there were those thoughts of being alone. But the best part of the day was her walk.

Sherlock Holmes was the highlight of her day.

She had never though of him since the day she left London with Godfrey. She vowed to live a new life, rid of Sigismund and all that he had done to her, and that included Holmes. She hadn't even thought of the fact that once she steps onto London soil, there was the possibility of meeting the detective.

It was a thought she entertained since seeing him. She wasn't fond of her only memory of him which was his trying to steal her photograph with the king, but it never meant that she scorned him. In all honesty, it flattered her that Sigismund would hire the best detective there was to go after her, and it flattered her even more that she got away with it. The thought of Sherlock Holmes made her feel better, now she had a familiar face to look forward to in London, that is, if she sees him again.

A knock on the door broke her from her reverie.

"Just a minute!" She threw on a dressing gown.

A bellboy with bushy blonde eyebrows carrying a red package greeted her. "Special delivery for Ms. Adler."

"Candies again?" Irene sighed exasperatedly.

"I would say so, mum."

"Who's it from this time? Barton? Munroe? Doyle?" Irene got tired of her admirer's sweet gifts long ago, this didn't surprise her.

"Here at The Grand, we respect our patron's privacy, mum." The bellboy said snobbishly.

"Oh alright, come in and put it on the table." She then went to comb her hair in front of the dresser. The bellboy did as he was told so. "And while you're at it, could you please set those flowers in a vase? My chambermaid hasn't come by." She had brought the flowers earlier from the same shop after she changed into a dress. "Also, bring down those soiled things to the laundry." She pointed at her mud crusted Ulster, trousers, and boots.

From her mirror she saw the bellboy had a confused expression when he inspected the clothes.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Oh, no mum; just concerned for your friend whose clothes these are. He must've had a bad day." He replied and went to work on the flowers.

"No, you've got it wrong, as matter of fact those are mine." Irene said with a smile. "I like walking in those."

She had a habit of saying these things about herself to random people for the sake of enjoying their scandalized expressions. But this bellboy only nodded nonchalantly and went on with his work. "Then you must've had an unfortunate walk Ms. Adler."

"It was alright. I didn't like the mud, but I met a familiar face, he's actually the reason why I fell into the mud."

The bellboy accidentally toppled the vase. "Oops, sorry, not to worry. Anyhow, did you really? Tell me more about this familiar face."

Irene laughed. "I thought here at The Grand, you people respect your patrons' privacy?"

"I am merely being conversant, mum; here at The Grand we do what best to keep our patrons feel homely." He smiled. "So, is this person an old friend?"

"No."

"No?"

"He wasn't a friend before. But now that I'm back here, I am hoping to see him again and properly be acquainted this time. I'm alone here in London, it would be nice to have a friend whom I could see and could take me around town. It's been a while since I left; I want to know what's new! I miss Hyde Park, I miss the great food, and honestly, I just miss the people, even the fog." She laughed. She did badly miss the place.

"That sounds rather promising; hopefully he doesn't push you in the mud again."

"Oh I know he won't, I've heard a lot about him, and though he's a bit roguish sometimes, he's a perfect gentleman to the ladies."

"Then I hope you both will have a pleasant meeting."

"You're a funny man," she met his eyes through the mirror, "you speak as if you know it would happen."

"Here at The Grand-"

"Yes, yes, here at The Grand, you people predict the future!" she laughed at her own joke. "So, let's see those candies now."

She took the package from the table and back to her dresser. As she inspected the card, it read: _To: Violet Greene._

"Hey! Wait a minute, this isn't for me!" she yelled at the bellboy, but when she turned he wasn't in the room anymore.

Irene ran to the table and looked under just in case he might be there, but when she rose, she saw written on the table with flower petals:

_The Royale, 8pm. Welcome back._

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**A/N: Reviews please. :D**

**-JS**


	3. All for Appearances

**All for Appearances**

* * *

"Watson!"

"What?!"

"I am in dire need of your assistance!"

"Of course you are! But can we talk about this later? I'm a little busy at the moment!"

"I need to dress for dinner and I don't think I have the proper jacket!"

There was a prolonged silence from the other side of the bathroom door, and then John Watson emerged, looking very uncomfortable but concerned.

"Oh dear, what did you do this time Holmes?"

"What do you mean what did I do? I'm going out for dinner and I need a jacket, I know you have one."

"Dinner with whom may I ask?" Watson inquired as he rummaged through his wardrobe.

"This is none of your business, now could you please make it quick? I'm running late, she's probably there by now."

"She_?_" Watson whipped around to face his friend. "_She?_" He asked incredulously.

"Yes 'she', as it is a pronoun for females." He looked at his pocket watch. "Now where's my jacket?"

"Oh dear God, what _did _you do Holmes? Who is this unfortunate lady?! And is that a false nose?!"

"No time for that now doctor, I must be gone!" Holmes snatched the jacket from Watson's hands and rushed out the door.

To the ordinary man, Holmes would look as if he sat and enjoyed his lounge in the lobby, but in reality he sat in discomfort despite The Grand's expensively upholstered furniture. It was seven thirty already.

_Where is she? _

Outside of work and regardless of those poor maids he's tricked into getting engaged with him for the sake of a case, Holmes has never tried to impress a lady. All he had done for tonight was for appearances and he simply did not want Irene Adler to think that she had outsmarted him because he was terrible at being sociable. In fact, he was far from terrible, Watson is certain that Holmes is hopeless in genuine socializations; and his plans for tonight would be a step to properly acquaint himself with a person who deserved his respect.

He heard the sound of heel on marble nearby and sure enough as he turned back from his chair, he saw the vision that is Irene Adler descend from the staircase.

* * *

Irene had only the petal message in her mind for the entire day. Yes, it couldn't be anybody else. The circumstances fit perfectly. It could only be Sherlock Holmes who would do this. If not, then she was sure it could be one of her infatuated admirers.

She didn't leave her room for the entire day. She was very excited about this meeting that she felt if she left the room to do something else, bad karma of some sort would befall and lessen the meeting's importance. She didn't know if Sherlock Holmes valued appearances, but for the sake of it, Irene wore her best; a burgundy satin gown that bared her shoulders, a simple chain necklace, and a jewel comb to hold her hair back. When the clock struck seven thirty, Irene made her way to the lobby.

"Miss Irene Adler." A coachman in finery greeted her.

"Yes?"

"This way please." Of course the coachman would lead her to a vehicle, but she did not expect a grand coach with white horses. This was too much. But then again, Irene was used to being lavished, and in her coach fit for a princess, she arrived at The Royale just in time.

"Good evening ma'am. How may I be of assistance?" the concierge greeted.

"Um yes, my friend has a reservation here?"

"Name please?"

"Holmes."

The concierge consulted his log book for a moment. "My apologies ma'am, but we do not have a reservation under that name."

Irene felt her spirit drop. _It's not him._

"But, I'm sure your friend might have listed down your name also, if you would kindly tell ma'am."

Irene hid her disappointment behind a smile. "Of course, it's Adler."

The second syllable wasn't out of her lips when the man's eyes widened. "Ah yes! The Miss Irene Adler, yes of course, please come this way ma'am, your table has been set for you." Irene took kindly to him as he led her to a table in the middle of the room. He pulled out her chair for her. "Enjoy your dinner Ms. Adler, and welcome back to London."

Irene felt a genuine smile creep on her lips. "Thank you." Just a few minutes ago she thought those words were from Sherlock Holmes, now it turns out that it might not be him after all.

_It's probably that womanizing oaf Munroe, or that slob of a doctor Doyle._

The waiters started arriving at her table; one poured her a glass of their finest wine.

"Oh, Margaux '58, comet vintage, how delightful! But I didn't order this."

"Everything has been paid for ma'am."

Irene was in awe. She wouldn't know how much a consulting detective earns, but she was sure that this bottle of wine was expensive, and if Sherlock Holmes was indeed behind all this, then he must have very rich clients with very big problems.

When the waiter set down the bottle, she saw a card hanging by a ribbon around the neck.

It read; _Cheers to the best of London cuisine. I pray you enjoy your dinner. _

Irene's brows furrowed. _Her_ dinner? Does that mean she'll be eating alone tonight?

The waiter set a covered tray on her table, and when he lifted the cover, there was another note card sitting beside her appetizer.

_Shrimp Fingers. Forgive my absence, but these wonderful German pieces will accompany you as you dine._

And then as if triggered by her reading the card, the band began to play. She recognized Schoenberg's and Bach's pieces among others, and indeed she didn't feel lonely while she ate. No note arrived along with her soup and main course, but when she was presented with her dessert; a lustful strawberry and cream confection, it not only had a note with it, but the waiter also handed her a bouquet of peonies and roses.

_My apologies; for desecrating your flowers…_

Irene couldn't help but smile.

…_and for mistaking you as a jewel thief and pushing you into the mud._

* * *

From where he sat in the corner of the room, he saw her smile widen.

Holmes did not take his eyes off her and studied her movements. With this, he has formed a story behind Irene Adler. She was well brought up as a young girl, but there was a trace of stubbornness in her brow and her lips that said she never really got her own way and thus had to be fully independent to live the life she wanted. That must be when she left New Jersey to be in Warsaw.

Her choice in attire said even more of her; Irene Adler obviously loved attention, the striking color and alluring cut of her dress meant she enjoyed standing out and drawing manly attention. To compare her to the other women in the room would be insulting to her.

Her simple yet expensive choices of jewelry announced that she is available and that her neck, ears, and wrists still have room for more gifts from men.

Her dark hair pinned loosely with soft tendrils framing her face, subtly seductive, spoke of a darker side of her, a wildness that accompanies her youth. But Irene Adler was far from looking naive.

Her eyes; cold, sharp, and scrutinizing, were softened and disguised by her sweet smile, a smile that could easily be deceptive.

Her hands would disprove body language; they appeared masterful, very ladylike and proper but never obviously careful, and never revealed her intentions. It was as if she was born with that grace and mastery of movement. Even as she picked up his cards to read, she held them with an air of neutrality; nothing exciting about it, nor boring. They were the hands of a very intelligent and well trained person, a person who hid her true self from the world.

Though what only interested him with her hands would be the trace of a ring, but Adler had worn dinner gloves and he decided that it was not yet time to know. He would still keep her in the dark for a while, if she had not already figured out who he is.

He saw her slowly finishing her dessert, and with that he stood from his table and made it for the coach. Not sooner had he put on his coachman's cap, Irene Adler walked out of The Royale looking satisfied but still very regal. The footman opened the coach door for her as she got in, and Holmes cracked his riding crop, making their way back to The Grand.

* * *

When he got back to Baker Street, Holmes found Watson rummaging through his desk and drawers.

"Oh thank God, you're here Holmes. Would you happen to know where my checkbook is? I can't seem to find it anywhere."

* * *

**A/N: well this was a quick chapter to write. tell me what you think please? :**

**-JS**


	4. Irregularities

**A/N: Hey there. Sorry to keep you waiting for quite some time. School ended like a week ago. I needed to get my sh*t back together since I haven't finished my story plot for this story yet and I had to do that before writing chapter 4. Anyways, here it is! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Irregularities**

* * *

She woke up early with a new purpose, it was as if determination was a drug that coursed her veins that perked her up and willed her to get on with the day, the determination to find out who this mysterious friend is. Though most of her still believed it was just Sherlock Holmes tripping her up into thinking it's not him, it was best to really make sure who.

This person seemed to know things about her…

_Holmes does._

Has obviously been shadowing her movements…

_Holmes would._

This would also mean that this person is interested in her, generally…

_Is he really?_

Irene shook her head, this was not the time to think of trivial matters, this person could mean her harm and was simply using the guise of an admirer.

The lobby was not as busy in the mornings but it was a good way to start her observation. This admirer of hers would obviously send up something for her after the dinner last night, may it be a card, flowers, wine, or candies, but it was important that she sees who leaves any gifts for her at the front desk. She remembered the bellboy the other night, and took his disguise as a cue, Irene dressed up as one herself; it was the easiest way to stay close to the front desk without looking suspicious.

She didn't have to wait too long though, for about a quarter of an hour later, an ill-clothed young boy with a soot smeared face entered the lobby. He was quickly blocked by a guard.

"Sorry, we do not give alms to beggars." The guard said monotonously.

"What made yah think I was tah beg?" The boy retorted.

"Then what is your business here?"

"Yeh don' look the concert person, why would I tell yeh?"

"You mean the concierge?"

"Yeah, tha' one."

"Then right this way please." He begrudgingly escorted the grubby boy to the counter.

"I say! Top o' the mornin' to yah!" The boy, not even tall enough to look over the desk, greeted the concierge cheerily with a thick Cockney accent.

"Yes? How may I be of service young sir?" The concierge said not really trying hard to hide the disgust in his voice.

"See 'ere, I gots this letter fer a lady in 'ere, and it gots tah be 'livered up quick!"

"I see." The concierge responded dryly, "well, give me her name and I'll be sure to send it up."

"Great then me man!" The boy clicked his tongue in approval and slapped a square of cardboard on the desk. "It's fer Adler, that darling of a ducky. You send it up now, there, that's a good lad!"

The boy then turned away and made it for the exit. Irene, despite her surprise, couldn't help but stifle a giggle.

"Oi, you there!" the concierge called to her.

"Yes sir?"

"Bring this up to Mr. Adler's room."

Irene smirked, then without a second look at the confused concierge, she dashed out the door in pursuit of the boy. Unfortunately for her, the little street Arab had blended in well into the crowd. But that didn't stop Irene; she knew enough about street kids even back in America and had a good guess where she might find this particular boy. He'd obviously been tipped by the person Irene was after; he would be paid after the task was done and if so, then they should just be near by, probably somewhere dark or isolated.

She turned into the nearest back alley, and sure enough she found the boy. But instead of with an adult as she expected, he was being congratulated and cheered on by a couple more boys like him.

"Good job Wiggins! Yer first assignment, atta boy!" the oldest looking street Arab slapped the boy called Wiggins playfully on the back.

"Well I would'nuv dunnit if yeh di'nt bring me to the guv'nor, Felix."

Irene stepped closer quietly to hear more of what they were saying, but she stepped on a piece of rotten box wood and the crunch got the boys' attention.

"Who you?" Felix called out to her authoritatively.

"Uhm," she cleared her throat. "I come by Miss Adler's instruction; she wanted to know who sent the card."

The boys stood up in alert, Felix narrowed his eyelids. "Really now? If she'd have read it, she would know."

Irene saw her mistake; she had not taken a glance at the card at all. "Well, uhm, she's not really certain-"

Then Felix said, "It's her! Run boys!" And with a blink of an eye, each boy dispersed into four different directions, Wiggins even slipped slyly past her elbow.

"Wait! Please, I just need- oh bother!" Then she ran after Wiggins.

_Very smooth Irene. Stupid Irene. This was not how you wanted it to happen! _She scolded herself as she swerved past people on the street with only one thing in focus; Wiggins' sooty back amidst other people. _Now you'll most likely never know who this person is._

The boy turned into a narrow alley, Irene followed suit then she heard voices cheering Wiggins on.

"Run you fool!" it was the older boy, Felix.

When she looked up, there he was with a number of other boys standing on the balconies on either side of the alley with buckets in their hands.

_MOTHER OF-!_

They tipped their buckets as she passed underneath them, and she didn't have to see to know what was in the buckets, her nose could tell. Irene dodged the disgusting torrents of filth and succeeded. Wiggins dared to look, and when he saw her gaining, the color drained from his face. She pushed on but just as she did, someone rolled a barrel in her way. Irene jumped just in time.

A smile ghosted her face as she was airborne before realizing that she would be landing in a filthy ditch.

* * *

_I'll get those kids, even if it kills me. They'll get what they deserve. Whoever sent them will have hell to pay!_

She seethed as she limped grudgingly, leaning on the walls of buildings as she walked on. She twisted her left ankle when she fell, and fact that it had begun to rain heavily right after that did not help matters. The earth and garbage got wet and it was not an easy task climbing out, and when she did, the boys were nowhere to be found. The chase had brought her far from the busy square where her hotel was and she was somewhat unfamiliar with the street where she was now.

Deciding that she would get nowhere unless the rain stops, she took a seat on a barrel just outside a café, taking shelter under its awning. The smell of warm bread wafted from inside and made her feel miserable. She should be back in her hotel room, warm and cozy, with breakfast in bed, yet she was out here. It was not even eight o'clock in the morning and she was already wet, cold, dirty, and injured. Irene was starting to lose interest on her 'admirer' thanks to those boys, and she wonders if it was even worth it.

The shops on the street were opening up and so was the café beside her. And as if the opening of doors was a signal, the street suddenly filled with people despite the rain, jostling about to get to a shop. One particular man who exited the café was pushed aside by entering customers, and as he stumbled, he bumped into Irene, toppling her barrel over and sending her onto the puddles and into the rain.

"Oh dear Lord, forgive me sir. Here, let me help you up." The tall man hurried towards her, carrying a brown package under one arm and held out the other for her. "I'm sorry, now, you're soaked. These morning rushes are already busy as they are, but with the rain, it's just troublesome."

"It's alright," she sighed as he pulled her up. "I wasn't dry to begin with." Irene hopped on one foot as she tried not to hurt her already injured left ankle, but the cobblestones were slippery and she slumped into the man. The bellboy hat she had maintained on her head to hide her hair finally fell off.

Irene scrambled for it and stuffed it back on haphazardly, her wet hair forming tendrils over her face. No one else seemed to notice since they were busy, but the man who helped her stared with wide eyes.

"What? You haven't seen a boy with long hair before?" Irene threw in.

The man looked unconvinced. His brows were furrowed yet his eyes were somewhat wide with surprise. "No, it's not that." He said.

"What do you mean?"

He looked hesitant, "Well, if I may?" he raised his hand to her face and carefully pushed aside her hair. He then let out a sort of triumphant 'huh' as if he was right about something. "I knew it."

Irene started to feel nervous. "What are you talking about?"

The man grabbed her hand and pulled her with him.

"Hey! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" She hopped on one foot to keep up while trying to pull away.

"This is not a place for someone like you, a warm sitting room perhaps. My apartment is nearby. You'll be safer there Ms. Adler."

Irene stopped pulling. "How-how… Who are you?" This man could be one of those dangerous fanatics of hers.

"Don't worry, you can trust me. We haven't exactly met properly before, but I know you. My name's Dr. Watson. John Watson."

* * *

**A/N: So what do you think? Review please! ^^**


	5. Familiar Strangers

**A/N: Hey there. Updating this right away to make up for my almost-a-month long hiatus. Here's the continuation of Irene meeting Watson.**

* * *

**Familiar Strangers**

* * *

_John Watson._

The name rung a bell, but still she can't remember who he was, although he seemed like a complete gentleman and that she was fine with.

He led her to a building a block away from the café in a street called Baker Street. Slowly, but not completely, Irene was placing John Watson in a familiar memory. The door of the building itself looked very familiar and he led her in.

Watson smiled at her. "This is 221, please feel comfortable. I'll just leave this in the kitchen." He gestured to the brown package and disappeared into a door, and Irene was left with her thoughts in the foyer.

_John Watson…_

_Baker Street… _

_The building …_

She was sifting through her memory for an answer, but it was like sifting fine flour.

Watson appeared again. "That was actually my breakfast; I'll fix it up later."

"You don't cook?" Irene said automatically.

"I would if I had time. Our landlady does the cooking around here; she's away for the weekend you see, that's why I was out buying."

"Oh…" Irene smiled. This felt rather awkward, she was in this place alone with a familiar stranger, and she didn't really know what to talk about.

"Come this way Ms. Adler, my apartment is upstairs. I know you're accustomed to wearing men's wear, maybe I'll find you one to change in." he said with a slight laugh to his tone. Irene wondered how he knew that.

The sight of the room before her was black and white; one side of the room was bright, organized and smelled like antiseptic; in short it was clean, the other side was the exact opposite. It looked like a cross between a cave, a museum, a library, and an armory and nothing seemed to be in place or cleaned.

"I see that you have a roommate." She said.

"Well yes, actually, about that roommate of mine… I was hoping you could tell me about him since you two should have met by now."

"What?" Irene was confused.

"As far as I know, he took you out to dinner last night?"

"I-_what?!"_

Watson looked as confused as her. "Come take a seat. We have loads to talk about."

She did as told and took the settee. "Okay, now tell me doctor, what the- as you Englishmen would say- _bloody hell _are you talking about?" Irene wrung her hands in the air, splattering Watson with droplets from her wet sleeves.

"Oh dear, I almost forgot, you have to change!"

"No wait, doctor-!"

Too late, he ran up a step ladder and into his room. Irene slumped into the settee with a disgruntled sigh, it's too early in the morning and her head's already all muddled up. With nothing to entertain her or explain the current events, she took a stroll around the room, looking but not touching anything. John Watson's side of the place was where she would rather stay in but there was something about the other side that was pulling her towards it. Irene carefully stepped over piles of books on the floor as she treaded on the dusty side of the carpet. His roommate was obviously the eccentric scholarly sort, too eccentric in fact she though when she saw bullet holes in the walls and bottles of frogs and other reptiles floating in green liquid on the shelves.

The sun was high in the sky by now and the light from the window reflected against something that struck her eye. Irene walked towards it to take a closer look, and what she saw stopped her in her tracks and made her heart beat faster: On a side table by the roommate's bookshelves was a photo frame, and that particular photo was of herself.

Irene picked it up gingerly, as if it would burst into flames any second. Now she knew why John Watson was instantly familiar with her, he practically shared an apartment with her face. She remembered this photograph, and she knew very well that it should not be here; she had left it in Briony Lodge for Sigismund to keep. She touched the glass; it wasn't dusty, meaning that it had recently been cleaned, more so admired.

"Here Ms. Adler, I reckon these would be of your size-" John Watson stopped on the step ladder and saw where Irene was. "Oh dear…"

"Doctor, could you kindly explain why this photograph is in your roommate's possession?" she asked without taking her eyes of the object.

"Yes, I think I'll do that, but before anything else," he stepped towards her and took the photo from her hands and replaced it with the clothes for her, "you should clean up; you're in a terrible state. I've prepared you a bath in my water closet."

Irene soaked up in the warm bath water while letting her thoughts brew. This return to London was not as she had expected, she wanted to relax, to get away from it all, and yet here she was, taking a bath in a stranger's lodgings with her old photograph mysteriously appearing and an annoying admirer running her down. She took a big gulp of air, submerged herself underwater, and let out a scream that only came in furious bubbles.

Watson's clothes were a few sizes too large for her and went inches past her wrists and ankles but it was better than the dirty bellboy uniform. She was dressing herself in his room and observed that he was indeed a very clean and proper man, though she saw he did a lot of writing since he had a typewriter on his desk downstairs and another one here in his room. There was also a small bookshelf where he kept what looked like notebook titles. Out of curiosity, Irene looked at them.

_'A Study in Scarlet'… 'Silver Blaze'… 'The Adventure of the Red-Headed League'… Odd titles, I wonder what these stories are… _She thought when one title in particular crossed her sight.

_'A Scandal in Bohemia'?_

_Bohemia… _Suddenly nostalgia clouded her brain. Irene shook her head and pulled the notebook out and regarded it for a while then she skimmed it. The first few pages were short hand notes, and as she read the notes, her eyes grew bigger. This book was about her affair with Sigismund, and more importantly, about her.

_Sherlock Holmes…_

Her hands went stiff and she dropped the notebook.

_The detective…_

Feeling dizzy, Irene inhaled deeply and loudly.

Watson must have heard because he knocked. "Are you alright Ms. Adler? I've prepared breakfast in case you haven't eaten yet."

_John Watson… _

_Baker Street…_

_The photograph…_

_The scandal…_

_Sherlock Holmes was John Watson's roommate… He had kept her photograph… It was his doing last night…_

"Ms. Adler?" Watson's knocking sounded more urgent. In a moment he would come in and see her with the notebook. Irene pocketed it quickly and composed herself with a deep breath.

"I'm fine doctor, it was just a sneeze I couldn't let out, and yes, I would love to have breakfast."

"Alright then." He replied.

To call Watson a gentleman would be an understatement, for his gallantry was far beyond her expectations. Irene sat comfortably on the settee with the breakfast he bought served on a bed tray in front of her. Her left leg stretched out and supported on the good doctor's knee as he applied ointment and treated her twisted ankle.

"You are too kind doctor." She said.

"Ah, it's all that I can do for a young lady, Ms. Adler." He chuckled.

"You should find a woman; it's surprising with the way you live right now you manage to put up with Mr. Sherlock Holmes' mess."

Watson looked up at her. "Oh, so you've figured it all out now, have you?"

Irene nodded, "All it takes is a little- what does he call it? -Deduction." Though she knew it was thanks to Watson's notebook and not her 'deductions'.

Watson smiled. "My, my, you are a lady to reckon with. I should've known by you reaction to what I said about last night that Holmes had kept you in the dark and played around. He has a penchant for the dramatic. Forgive him."

"I'll try."

Watson frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, this morning a boy had left a message for me at the hotel, I followed him and his gang of street Arabs. They tried to shake me off, maybe as per instruction from their 'guv'nor' as they called him. This is why I am in my current state now. The boy was called Wiggins, and their leader I think was Felix."

Watson sighed disdainfully. "Those children, I see Holmes set them on you. He calls them his Baker Street Irregulars. Don't worry, they can get quite rough and mean, but they're alright."

"Yeah, maybe they are, but it is Mr. Holmes that bothers me. You see he invited me to dinner last night but it was just for me alone and left rather vague note cards. What's he planning?"

"Hmmm…" Watson contemplated. "I think... I think he intended for you to figure out who he is. Sort of one of his cases, after all it is because of one that he is acquainted with you."

Irene laughed a bit. "Right, how could I ever forget? Speaking of which, where is he by the way?"

"That's also another thing I wanted to ask you. He left early this morning and I thought he went to meet you, but after hearing your story about the Irregulars, I suppose he didn't intend to see you now."

"One of his little games again?"

"Yes." Watson put her nursed foot down. "There, that's better. You'll have to rest for the rest of the day, but it'll be fine by tomorrow, just be careful from now on." After that, he saw her out the door and hailed a cab for her.

"Thank you for your help Dr. Watson. It was very nice to meet you."

"You're welcome Ms. Adler; hopefully we'll see each other again."

She smiled a knowing smile. "Oh, maybe we will."

* * *

**A/N: Our beloved Sherlock will be present in the next chapter! Sorry for keeping you on your toes. So tell me, how do you think will they finally meet again?**

**-JS**


	6. The Notebook

**The Notebook**

* * *

She tucked into the book the moment she got the chance and started reading about the time when she first met the detective. Of course she remembers clearly her side of the story, but right now she wanted to know what it was like for Holmes and Watson.

_Seventeen steps huh… _

The man was amazing at the little details and especially when he guessed the crown prince's identity. She scoffed, a little offended, when she read that it had been him at her wedding with Godfrey. Then came the eventful night at her house where he dressed up as a minister. Irene smiled proudly to herself when the detective recoiled in surprise at the news of her departure; just the reaction she had been expecting, but she herself was surprised when he chose to receive no payment and to keep her photograph instead.

_If he considers me as The Woman, then perhaps he deserves to have it…_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes grumbled loudly as he walked home.

_What sort of lady makes a man wait for three hours for breakfast?_

He sat in The Royale for quite too long with plates of food waiting to be served, he even had to borrow Watson's checkbook once more, not that Watson knows. He was certain the boys had delivered up his message for her, and after seeing Wiggins enter the lobby, he left for The Royale to prepare their table. He had been looking forward to a conversation with her.

Holmes entered his building and deduced from the foyer that Watson was home and had entertained a patient. The doctor was reading his morning paper when he opened the door.

"Something interesting happened earlier today while you were out old chap." Watson said.

Holmes didn't reply and just stood there, eyes furrowed and focused on the floor, and before the door could click into its frame he said: "You had a woman in here."

It was a statement, not a question. Watson was half surprised, but he was expecting it.

"A woman dressed as a man, more importantly, a woman who isn't Eloise St. Claire," Holmes roamed around, eyes on the floor. "I suppose that's what you meant by something interesting?"

"Well, if you put it that way- Hey! What're you doing?" Watson remonstrated when Holmes rushed up the step ladder and into his room. "Holmes! Get of out there. I don't barge into your room, do I?"

He emerged holding the muddied bellboy uniform he found by the bathtub in Watson's water closet. "Irene Adler was here… Irene Adler was in here… While I was out there waiting… she was here…" he mumbled, and before Watson could speak, Holmes had grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT WOMAN DOING IN HERE?!"

"Holmes! Holmes! Calm down man! I had to let her in-"

"_YOU_ LET HER IN?! YOU DO NOT LET ANYONE INTO MY APARTMENT WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!" he shook the doctor.

"As I recall I pay half the rent, and sometimes only I pay-"

"WHY WOULD YOU LET HER IN?!"

"BECAUSE OF YOUR SILLY GAMES, I HAD TO!"

Holmes let him go. "What do you mean because of me?"

"Your boys, your Irregulars, she went after them and she got injured. I found her looking pathetic by the street."

Holmes plopped into his chair, he had not predicted that this would happen; he hadn't considered the possibility of her pursuing the boys. "The poor woman…"

"Don't worry too much; she held her own quite well, although her perception of you doesn't seem bright any longer."

Holmes sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

The two sat in silence minding their own business when Jimmy the pageboy delivered a parcel for Watson. It had no sender name, but it contained the clothes he lent Adler and a notebook wrapped in paper. Watson unraveled it. "Huh? It's my notes of the Scandal in Bohemia. What's it doing with her?" then he saw that the paper it was wrapped in was a letter.

_Thank you again for the clothes, Doctor._

_Also, my apologies for taking the notebook, I cannot help but be interested in reading what is known as my story. I hope you could forgive me._

_Between the pages, I have left a gift for you and Mr. Holmes._

_-The Woman_

The doctor chuckled. "On second thought m'boy; I think her perception of you has quite improved." Watson said as he tossed towards Holmes an envelope.

The detective opened it and inside where two box tickets for the premier night of Irene Adler's upcoming opera.

* * *

"I did my waiting, five days of it, and all we did was watch her sing?" Holmes snorted into his champagne glass. Being special guests of the star, they were invited to the Gala Cocktail after the show, and while Watson was enjoying his time being surrounded by beautiful young ladies, Holmes lurked by his elbow like a hulking unpleasant shadow. It was almost an hour since the party started and they had not seen Adler in the room.

"You know you ought to be thankful that you're here now. For the past five days, why, you couldn't even keep to yourself how anxious you are to finally see her again."

"I am not anxious."

"And I'm a hippopotamus."

Holmes glared at his friend.

"Take it easy Holmes, she'll come around. After all, she is the star of the production." He said as a group of girls passed in front of him, he smiled, and they giggled.

"Easy for you to say." Holmes scoffed. "I'll be outside, alone, in the dark."

"Have fun." He replied, not really paying attention as he took a girl to dance.

The Victoria Theatre's ballroom was on the ground floor and when Holmes went out by one of the French windows he arrived by the garden balcony. The noise from inside was hardly audible out here and the moon hid behind the clouds and would peek out at some moments to bathe the small garden with silver light, but for most of the time, everything was pitch black. He liked it that way. Holmes closed his eyes and moved about by his other senses; the sweet perfume of the spring blossoms, the cold air slightly nipping at his cheeks, the sound of soft humming…

_Humming?…_

He wasn't alone outside. He opened his eyes to the dark, he could still hear it, the source was nearby, and when the moon peeked out from the clouds, he saw just at the other end of the balcony was a woman with her back to him. She hummed a tune from the show, and her voice was very familiar.

_Could it be? _

Holmes approached stealthily.

The French window near the woman opened, polluting the beautiful silence with music and laughter from inside, then a tall, rotund figure emerged. Holmes stood his ground for the darkness concealed him. Judging by the swagger in his walk and the shape of a wine bottle in his hand, the man was drunk. He approached the woman and she merely looked at him.

"Hello my lovely Ms. Adler, why might you be alone here on such a wonderful occasion?" he slurred.

"I don't mean to correct you Mr. Barton, but I don't recall being 'yours'." She replied dryly, not moving from where she stood.

"Oh, but of course you are m'dear!" he raised a hand to stroke her cheek, she brushed it away. "After all those gifts I've sent you, and the arrangement I've set with your director, it won't be long till you'll call me 'sweetheart'."

Even in the dark, Holmes could see her cringe with disgust.

"Mr. Hubert is only the director; he is not my manager nor is he my father. I don't see why any arrangement between you would concern me. Now before you further degrade my opinion of you, I bid you goodnight Mr. Barton." She turned on her heel and made for the door.

"Now wait just yet lassie!" Barton's slur had turned into a growl and he grabbed Adler by the arm, twisting her towards him.

"Ow! Let me go you oaf!"

Barton wrapped his beefy arms around her small frame and begun to violate her neck. Irene squirmed and kicked to no avail. "Let me go!"

"I would do as the lady wishes, if I were you sir!" Holmes announced, he had Watson's walking stick clutched in one hand and he was not afraid to use it.

* * *

**A/N: Holmes to the rescue! :D**


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